I had been looking for a while. If you pay attention, you can learn a lot. Sure there are lots of stories, and it's like looking for your keys. You have to check everywhere. I'm not even going to get into that misadventure at the burial mound. It was, pardon the pun, a dead loss. And, to top it all off, the burns never did heal correctly.
A friend that I had made during some unpleasantness in Tucson got back to me; he'd been out of the country for a while and hadn't been able to email me. He told me about a place he'd found on one of the back roads in Kentucky. He said that he thought it might help my problem. I got on a plane. I rented a car and I went looking. Found a few odd things out there while I was looking. Found another hungry hotel. Met a man who ran a gas station entirely by remote control. Saw a whistling pig. Met a very talented thunder-wife. But none of those things were what I was looking for. But, when I saw it, I knew it instantly.
It was an old white roadhouse, the neon sign old enough to be unreadable from the road. The roof of the place was a dark green color that might have been brighter once upon a time. Covered in white aluminum siding that had seen better days and reddish trim, it had parking lots on both sides of it and its front door faced the road. I parked in the front parking lot across from the ancient crumbling drive in theater. I took it as an ill sign when I encountered a scrawny yellow-eyed cat, but a closer look at the back of the structure revealed a few other felines gamboling around. I can only assume for whatever the kitchen staff would toss them out of the back door.
The back of the place was screened by enormous weeping willow trees, and their curly yellow leaves crunched underfoot everywhere. I could see people inside. Dining. A little centering and I could see that energy was in this place. It wasn't a geyser by any means, but a quite thrum that you could feel in your viscera, like a slap on a stand-up bass. I went up the concrete walk and went inside.
The place was a riot of sensation. First the smells, a restaurant ought to smell like food when you walk in the door and this place did not disappoint. I found my mouth watering in spite of the churn in my emotions. The foyer was the home of a large old-fashioned glassed in candy counter. I could smell chocolate quite strongly and other sorts of candies. Some sold in little green buckets with some saran wrap on the top. They even had about six different flavors of Life Savers that I didn't know they made anymore. Additionally, there was a small sliding window directly into the kitchen behind the counter and the smell of food and the clamor of routine kitchen work came from it.The sounds came next, a low din of kitchen work, as I mentioned, and the talk of the patrons. Just past the foyer, I could see two tables of waitresses doing side work, smoking, filling in crosswords and generally shooting the shit. If a manager of an Applebee's ever saw something like that out in the open of his restaurant, he'd fall over dead from shock, I suppose. But, then again, the hostess was sitting with them, an older lady and kind of stout. She appeared to be completely in charge, had her eye on the door, and if it was fine with her, I suppose it would have to be fine with anyone else.
The sights were last for me to assimilate. Chain restaurants in our day and age only think they understand the concept of "eclectic decor". But, they have no clue. None whatsoever. The interior of the place was done up in orange wood, pine I would have to guess from the sheer number of knots in it. The floors were hardwood and it seemed that every single wooden surface in the squeaked or creaked. There was a large functioning Wurlitzer jukebox. I never did get to see what sort of music it had in it.
My attention had been absolutely arrested by the guns. The interior of the front dining room was decorated with the largest collection of antique firearms I had ever seen in my life. It was fairly obvious that none of them were functional anymore but still a damned impressive collection. Also, there were pictures of horses, a few displays of archaic farm and kitchen equipment, horseshoes nailed up on the wall (correctly I noted) and about a dozen other things that I never got a good look at.
I was taking it in as the hostess got heavily to her feet and with a practiced motion grabbed up a menu and proceeded to ask me if there was anyone else in my party. I shook my head, near oblivious looking at a wooden "Wanted" sign for Frank Younger and the Colt Peacemaker that was screwed to the wall right next to it. I had, in the span of moments, fallen in love with the place.
"That won't be necessary, Edith. I reckon the young man will be dining with me." Thus waved off, she returned to her crossword puzzle and lit another cigarette while I turned to face the owner of the voice. He was an old man, to be sure. Most of his hair was gone and he wore thin spidery glasses. He wore suspenders and old style button down shirt with no tie. He smoked a pipe. He seemed like any old duffer you'd meet, except completely at peace. He too had the air of being completely in charge, and the booth he occupied took on the air of being the center of his world. Don't ask me how I know this. I just know it.
"Do I know you, sir?"
"You can call me Chef. Everyone does."
"I am known as...” I looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. "Hmm. Better just call me Sonny. That'd be best I guess."
The old man smiled as if I'd passed a test. "Make yourself to home Sonny." Reaching out with his left hand, he effortlessly caught the crook of the arm of a passing waitress. "Deedee, bring the young man a bowl of soup wouldja?"
"Sure thing Chef."
We sat for a bit and regarded one another, each, I suppose, wondering how to approach the other. When finally the old man noticed that his pipe had gone out, and he began the intricate work of getting it going again. As he broke out the necessary gear, he looked me in the eye, "You have the look of someone who's lookin' for somethin'."
"Do I?"
"Yep." He spoke, his hands on autopilot, " I reckon I know what you're lookin' for too."
"Do you?"
"Yep." And then there was a long silence while he finished with his pipe.
I have to admit, I was still sort of at sea as to how to proceed. It's hard to talk about these things with "civilians" and I wasn't sure this man wasn't one.
"I heard that this place has a haunted room."
He snorted as if that were the most ludicrous thing he'd ever heard. "Yeah...I've heard some say that the back party room is haunted. Course, who knows about a thing like that? Know what I mean?"
"I'm interested in such things."
"Really? A young fella like you interested in ghosts, and hauntin's, and other horseshit like that?" He looked amused as if this were his favorite game.
"So that's not the case? It's not haunted?"
"Well...I don't know that "haunted" is exactly the right word is all."
There was another brief hiatus as my soup came, a really good thick bean soup with lots of garlic.
"Someone send you here 'Sonny'? Someone I might know the name of?"
"Charlie Wainright?"
His face split into a broad grin. "Oh hell yeah. I recollect Charlie Wainright. He rolled in here about six months ago looking for some answers. Found some too, I think... Is that what you're looking for boy? Answers?" he peered at me over his spectacles.
"Yeah...I guess so." I found it hard to keep his gaze.
"Yep. I guessed as much. A fella can spot someone looking if he knows what he's looking FOR. "
I felt completely transparent, and that's not a feeling that a practicing magus is ever going to get used to.
"It's all right son. Eat your soup and I'll tell ya the rules." I ate my soup. It was good, but I could barely concentrate on it.
"First thing you ought to know Sonny is that it's not exactly a specific ghost. People walk in that room; they see someone different every time. Someone THEY know. Someone from his or her life that has passed on. It's not like someone died in there and people see them. You know what I mean?"
I kept my face carefully neutral. It was what I had been hoping for. "I suspect I do."
"It only seems to happen to people if they're in that room by themselves. I send the waitresses to clean the place out in pairs. So once you're in there alone, it'll happen. Savvy?"
"Yes."
"You never tell them they're dead. Never. It just upsets them and it seems to wreck whatever's happening in there."
"I see."
"Good. See that you do, because the last rule is the most important. It only ever happens once. One ticket, one ride. Only one shot to touch that other world, so you have to make it count."
I digested that. "Do you know why it happens?"
Chef shrugged. "Nope. Been happening since we built the place. Don't know why. I 'spect we get we get some person come through here every couple of months looking for the room. And occasionally we get a lone patron gets the socks scared offa them."
I nodded. "Anything...Unpleasant happen in there?"
The old man looked off in the middle distance, took a puff from his pipe. "Had a fella come through here. Named...Warren Kazanjian, I think. Is that what it was, Edith?"
"Yeah", she drawled, not even looking up from her crossword. "Didn't like the look of him."
Having met Warren Kazanjian, I concurred.
"Yep," the old man went on, "He comes through here. I didn't much care for him either. Caught a bad vibe off of him. Didn't like his smile. He walked in there...and didn't walk out. All we found was his gun and his jacket folded neatly on a chair. Nice gun too. Shame to toss it out."
I looked up at the wall covered with firearms behind him and quirked an eyebrow. He shrugged again. "Didn't like the feel I got off of it." I nodded.
He led me back into the foyer. There was a plastic accordion-like door into the back party room. The old man stood next to me. "This is it."
I nodded and took a steadying breath. "Oh. One more thing, See the animals behind me?"
Behind the counter, there were at least five shelves full of tiny ceramic animals. I had seen them when I came in. "Yeah."
"Do me a favor, will you. The wife bought 'em and they've never really moved very well..."
"I got you. Save me one of the elephants."
"Why an elephant?"
"Because they never forget."
I tried to smile, but I'm not sure I succeeded.
"Good luck son."
"Thank you, Chef."
I opened the door and went inside, all in all, not an earth-shattering thing. The room had the same Naugahyde booths and chairs, white tablecloths, white napkins, silver... Three large picture windows looking out onto the back parking lot. There was a coat-rack and a stand-up piano, and a large wooden plaque on the wall declaring proudly that this was the meeting place of the local Rotary Club. And, as I was looking around at how unremarkable it was...It changed. It had been daylight when I entered the restaurant, but the picture windows showed it was clearly night outside and snowing. As I looked around the room, the pristine cleanliness of the place changed and the place looked as if it had hosted a party for fifty. Indeed, there were Christmas decorations on the walls.
And, I saw her.
She was in that long black camel hair coat that I used to tease her was far too "Washington wife" for her tastes. It had been a gift from her mother, as had the Isotoner gloves she was putting on. I stood transfixed at the sight of her. She was there. Not some shade. Not some phantom form. It was her. Standing there. Full of life. Her red hair, Her freckles, Her bright eyes.
And, of course, pissed at me.
"What in the fucking hell are you doing here?"
Even in the welter of emotions, I had to bite back, "I could ask you the same question." I may have stammered for a moment or two. "I came looking for you actually."
She snorted as it was the most ludicrous thing she had ever heard. "Why on God's green Earth would you be looking for me? You made it more than clear what was more important to you."
"I know." I couldn't look her in the eye. Our last words had been an argument over her going away to pursue her work and my adamant refusal to go with her.
She looked at me with a tightly leashed hurt, picked up a wrapped present and her bag and began to leave the room, but I caught her (solid!) arm and spun her to face me. "I was wrong." Her eyes blazed up me with her anger and hurt. "All I wanted was to let you know that I was wrong."
"It's too late for that!"
"I know."
"You can't just come back here and apologize and expect anything."
"I know."
"Goddamn you!" She slammed a fist into my chest, hard. "Don't try to be reasonable now, you stupid fucking shit! You had everything and you pissed it away and now you want me back? Fuck you asshole!"
She reared back a fist to sock me again but in a moment of pure desperation, I caught it.
It surprised us both.
"No." I said, "I know I can't ever have you back. I know that in a way that I may never be able to tell you. I only...I only wanted to say that I was sorry for the way it shook out. Sorry for the things I said. Sorry for how mean I was to you. Sorry...for not realizing until it was too late... that you meant so much to me."
My face was wet. I know this because she reached up and touched my wet cheek.
"Oh John, you stupid fuck," she said. "I just wanted to be with you and do my work. That's all."
"I should have seen that. You kept me level in a way I've not been since...I love you Kate...and I would go to any length for you."
"Don't." She smiled. "You don't have to. We'll meet again. Someday. We'll be together again and maybe... we can...I don't know."
"I just didn't want you and me to part with harsh words between us. That's why I came all this way."
She looked up at me. "John? Why do you always have to do things the hard way?"
I folded her without protest into my arms. "Believe me, baby. I've been wondering the same thing myself for years now."
We stood there for a long time, and then I kissed her, and just like always, time stopped. I had nowhere to be. Nothing more important to do than be in her arms. Life and work and other things had gotten in the way had made me forget this simple basic thing. I may not ever be able to forgive myself for that. She held me close, and like always, broke the clinch. "I'm still going."
"I know you are."
"You're not just trying to get around me?"
"No. I finally know how important your work is to you." Her eyes were shrink-wrapped in tears. "You're killing me here."
"Not for all the world. Go. Do what you must. You and I don't know what the future holds..."
But, I did know what her future held.
We had words, she got on a plane to South Carolina and it had got caught in a storm and had crashed. I never saw her alive again.
And then I crawled into a bottle for about two years. I wanted to tell her not to go. I wanted her to stay here with me, or go with her wherever she was bound. The life in her was making me think this was all real and if I could just tell her that she would die... But, I didn't. I couldn't. God only knows exactly what was happening here, but the old man had made it clear that it would fuck up things, to spill the beans. She looked at me with about six different emotions on her face and then she turned, and without a backward glance, she walked out of the room.
She never looked back. Never. It was something that always used to piss me off about her. But I think now I understand why she never did.
It was just too goddamned hard to look back.
I opened the door and walked out. I went to the counter, bought three rolls of Life Savers and a tiny ceramic elephant. I pressed my business card on Chef, "You need me for anything, just let me know." And, I got into my car and drove away. Chef seemed to understand that I wasn't feeling chatty afterward.
I went back, of course, and found the place completely gone. The parking lots had been taken over by a guy selling prefab buildings and gazebos. The weeping willow trees were still there but all traces of the restaurant were gone. The energy was gone too. I asked the gazebo man what had happened to the restaurant that used to be here. He said that the old man had passed away. His wife had tried to keep the place open for a while, but finally, they had decided to widen the road, the state came around and offered her some money, and she'd taken it. They tore the place down years ago. I kept my face neutral. I had only been gone from the restaurant for two days. I reached into my pocket where I kept the little ceramic elephant and rubbed its surface with my thumb.
Occasionally you find things like this. They exist in the world we live in, but like the morning dew, they melt away.
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